


Lights in Darkness

by BarbaraKaterina



Series: 2018 Holiday fics [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Hanukkah, Sindarin Hanukkah, Sort Of, er I mean Noldorin, goyim POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 03:24:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16846195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarbaraKaterina/pseuds/BarbaraKaterina
Summary: The Sindar are a different culture from the Noldor, with different holidays, as Galadriel disovers on her visit to Doriath, and through the centuries that follow.Just a little Hanukkah drabble.





	Lights in Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Hanukkah sameach! I didn't manage to write this in time for the first day, as tends to happen with me, but that's the upside of week-long holidays, I guess. 
> 
> Oh and please tell me if I made any gravely offensive mistakes in the "cultural adaptation" of the Festival of Lights for Sindarin purposes.
> 
> This is technically the Nolde verse, I guess, but it's completely irrelevant to the story.

It was Galadriel's first time at the Festival of Lights, and she had to admit she was enchanted. 

There were candles everywhere, one large candelabrum next to the throne and many smaller ones all around the room, making the largest hall of Thousand Caves glimmer and shine even more than normal. Between the candelabra there were plates of food, and that was different from normal too, little buns of sweet dough and spicy flat cakes - she had no better words for it - all very greasy and something she had never tasted among the Noldor - or Vanyar and Teleri, for that matter.

The whole festival was different from what she knew, and after taking in the hall, she walked to the throne where her brother already stood, listening to King Singollo explain the celebration.

“It goes back to the Great Journey,” he said. “East of the Mountains, I and a group of my people became separated from the rest. Middle-Earth was dark, then, as you know, and without the guiding light of our hosts, we were lost and alone, and we could feel the Enemy’s darkness pressing on us from all sides. It was then that my relation Círdan said that the light of the One will always defeat the darkness of the Enemy, and that if we could but produce a light to focus our hope on, the Enemy would never destroy us with his tricky darkness. But there was little to light a fire with - only then we found that one of us had a little oil with him. It was barely enough to keep burning for a day if we soaked a cloth in it, but Círdan urged us to keep faith in the One’s light.

“And the oil kept. It kept until seven days later, when we were discovered by the guards sent for us and taken safely back to the host. The light had kept burning in the darkness, miraculously, as the light of the One - and as the light of this realm will always burn in the darkness that surrounds out.”

Galadriel breathed out at the final sentence, and she could see Lady Ernil nearby turn her head away to hide her expression at that arrogant pronouncement. She moved away. She had enjoyed the story, but if she knew the king at all, it would now turn into praise of his own kingdom and rule, and that, she had no desire at all to listen to. It was reassuring to know she was not alone, at least - Lady Ernil seemed upset he would tarnish the festival story with his own kingly concerns, and surely others must be as well.

She went to find Lady Melian and Lúthien instead, as she could be entirely confident there would be no such talk from them. Sadly, though, if she wanted to hear more about the festival - which she did - she was not in luck there.

“It’s a Sindarin celebration,” Lady Melian said. “I honour it at my husband’s side, but it is something new and a little foreign to me.”

Galadriel turned to Lúthien in hope, but the princess merely shook her head. “I like other festivals we have better,” she said. “You should come for one of them! There is Feast of the Weeks, that is nice - there is greenery all around the Thousand Caves, and it looks like a true forest! But my favourite is the Feast of Booths! Everyone leaves the Caves for some time and moves out into the forest, and we all live in little booths.”

Galadriel smiled at her. “You would like that,” she said. It sounded very strange and mysterious to her, but she had to admit it would be interesting to see, if only because the idea of King Singollo sleeping in a booth for however long seemed impossible.

She tried once more to learn something more of the Festival of Lights, but when she was unsuccessful, she turned away ready to give up - until Lord Celeborn appeared at her side.

“My lady,” he said after a bow, “I take it you have questions?”

-

Galadriel emerged from the memory she had been lost in and looked around Caras Galadhon, surveying the decorations. There were many changed as they had to adapt to a different setting. Here in Lothlórien, the candelabra did not stand, but were instead hung on the trees to provide shimmering light in the forest. The candles gave the bark of mellyrn a unique shine, even now in their decline.

Some of the spices that had been originally used for the festival cakes could no longer be found after the destruction of Beleriand, but Celeborn and others had gone through what could be found and discovered the best possible replacements. In Hollin, it used to be a matter of pride to create the most beautiful candelabra for the festival. Only few of those masterpieces survived, and they were prized highly among those Sindar who came with her from Hollin.

In Lothlórien, once the Silvan had become a little more involved in the business of the capital, they brought their own flavor to the festival with songs recounting the tale of Singollo trapped in the darkness before the Sun and the Moon, songs that sounded through the forest now. 

Now, as Galadriel was saying goodbye. 

This, she knew, was her last Festival of Lights in Middle-Earth. This time next year she would be West. 

She wondered if the Sindar who had sailed or returned from Mandos celebrated the festival there in some form. Perhaps there was a blooming tradition of it. She was curious, but ti was outweighted by the loss she felt for what she knew and loved here.

“My love,” she heard Celeborn say as he approached from behind, “it's time.” 

She nodded and leaned into him for a moment, gathering strength, before she straightened and together, they walked to the public section of the royal flet, where a large candelabrum stood, still unlit. 

Rusgon held out a candle for Celeborn, and he took it, stepping towards the candelabrum, watched by thousands of eyes from other flets. 

The light touched the first wick. 

“Blessed are you, the One,...” Celeborn began to recite. 

Galadriel stood by, and listened on, and remembered the past and dreamt of the future.


End file.
